Untitled
by KuteraGeist
Summary: A possible ending or almost-ending I thought of one day.


JON

It was Ghost who warned him of the visitor, by way of a sudden rise of his head. Jon reflected, with some sadness, on the direwolf's dead siblings, then, with further sadness, on his own.

"Enter," Jon said loudly, just as the knock came to the door.

He turned away from the stacks of papers at the desk as the door opened, then he stared. It was her.

She was beautiful in an exotic, almost alien way. Her hair was silver as the moon and longer than that of any woman he could think of. Her regal black gown was adorned with emblems of her house on the sleeves. Jon realized, after a moment, that she staring at him as well. As her violet eyes bore into him, he was reminded of a lizard-lion watching its prey with inhuman patience. And he remembered her as she was before, in the battle, riding atop a creature far more deadly than a lizard-lion.

"Thank you," Jon said to her.

Daenerys Targaryen looked puzzled, for an instant, then her eyes brightened with understanding.

"I had no choice but to help you," she replied. "I came here to be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. I cannot rule over these lands if they belong only to the dead. They make for poor subjects. It is known."

Jon smiled. "Pardon me, my lady. I know nothing."

Daenerys smiled too. "You know many things. It seems you and your people were the only ones who realized what was happening. The only ones who tried to stop it. If not for you, I suspect there would be no realm for me to conquer."

She stepped forward, then, and Ghost was on his feet. Jon glanced at him and saw that he was not baring teeth, only staring with his red eyes. Daenerys looked at him too, not with fear as everyone else did, but with curiosity. Of course, what had she to fear from any creature? She had tamed dragons.

"He won't hurt you," Jon said, patting Ghost's head.

Daenerys walked to him, eyes now on the direwolf, and reached out. "May I?"

Jon nodded, and lowered his hand so that she could pet his head. Ghost continued to stare, as if he didn't notice her hand. Jon wasn't sure what to make of it.

"He's beautiful," Daenerys murmured. "What is his name?"

"Ghost," Jon replied, suddenly feeling a little foolish. He remembered Tyrion telling him the names of the dragons.

But Daenerys only turned her smile to him. "A very fitting name. I have heard things about you, Jon Stark. They say you cannot be killed, at least not for good."

"That was because of the red woman," Jon protested. "And I am no true Stark."

"I have heard other things too," Daenerys went on. "One of your brothers legitimized you, while he was king."

"Robb." Jon closed his eyes. "I know why you're here."

Daenerys lifted her eyebrows at him.

"You want me to be another Torrhen Stark," Jon said. "You want me to bend the knee."

Daenerys said nothing.

"I've a mind to," Jon admitted. "I am very tired. The war with the dead is war enough for a lifetime. For two lifetimes. And even one dragon, I think, is enough to win you any war. But . . . I don't know if it is the right thing to do."

He opened his eyes to see Daenerys still smiling at him.

"It weighs on you," she said softly, "whether or not you do the right thing."

"Yes."

This seemed to please her. "I have heard something else, too. Another brother of yours said something about you. He said you have lived your life a bastard, and also that it was a lie. Because the truth would have been so much worse for you, and your father knew that. He knew you would have been targeted by assassins, as I have been. Or even killed as a child. Your brother said you are not, in fact, his brother at all, but his cousin. Because your father never sired you, but instead took you from his dying sister and raised you as his own, protecting you by her dying wish."

Jon felt his mouth go dry.

"Your mother was Lyanna Stark, Jon. And your father was Rhaegar Targaryen."

It took Jon a moment to find his words. "This is a joke. I look like my father, everyone says so! There is no-"

"Targaryen seed is weak," Daenerys interrupted. "That is why my people have always bred together. You take after your mother, and so the blood of the dragon within you lay dormant, impossible to see. Except in retrospect, by your three-eyed . . . cousin."

"Bran is my brother!" Jon insisted. "And he does not have three eyes, he . . . I don't know what happened to him, in the far north. I won't deny he knows things now, things he could not know. But . . ."

Jon became quiet and looked down. Daenerys had laid a soft hand on his arm.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I did not mean to upset you. Bran is still your brother, as you grew to know him, and Eddard Stark was still your father, as he raised you like one. But you understand what I am telling you. Bran told me what he saw, and I realized it to be true."

Jon looked back at her.

"Do you believe what your red priests say, that you are the 'Prince That Was Promised'?" Daenerys asked.

"No," Jon admitted.

"I have red priests too, and they said the same of me. In High Valyrian, the word for 'prince' does not necessarily refer to a man, you see. But I didn't think much of it either. I decided that there are no gods, only men who say there are gods and attribute things to them. It was not the Lord of Light that defeated the dead army, it was your swords and my dragons."

Jon nodded.

"I did not intend to help you, at first," Daenerys told him, and Jon thought he saw a hint of shame in her eyes. "I was going to attack all of you. Indiscriminately. Living and dead. And so I began."

Jon furrowed his brow at her. "Who-?"

"Only you, Jon. Drogon breathed his flames at you and the dead men around you. You were the only one who rose up, when the flames were gone. You were still alive. That was what convinced me to help you."

Jon remembered the intense heat, the fire on his back as he went down. The way the armor had crumbled in his hands, when he tried to take it off after the battle. His back still ached from the burns.

"I don't pretend to think you cannot be touched by fire, but I know a sign when I see one," Daenerys whispered, her stare intense. "No other man I know of has survived a dragon's direct attack so thoroughly. You may be half-wolf, but you are also a dragon."

"Why are you telling me this?" Jon asked suddenly. He had a feeling of apprehension rise in him. "If you are going to demand I bend the knee, then just say so."

"I did not come here for that. I do not want you to bend the knee, unless that is how your traditions are. I came here to propose an alliance of our kingdoms. The two of us as joint rulers of the realm. Once more, ruled by Targaryens, but this time the better for it."

Jon felt realization dawn on him, and his apprehension turned to bewilderment. "Marriage. You think we should be married. King and queen."

"Not king and queen as your people here know it, with the queen being nothing but a mother of heirs, but yes. Just think, Jon. The Seven Kingdoms united once more, north and south married both in name and reality."

"Why?" Jon asked, despite himself. "You can conquer us as you have the south. You have the army and still another dragon. You may not even need to. No doubt many here would fear you enough to insist I swear fealty to you, to kneel and save lives rather than empty honor."

"Your honor is not empty, and I do not wish to take that from you." Daenerys said. "I am tired, too. I would rather not conquer you. Your people are good people. Even Tyrion had said so, and he despised his own house. But he also taught me some history of the north. The Stark you mentioned bent the knee to protect his people, and no doubt he saved them from a terrible war. But the north remembers, and it was the north that fought most fiercely against my father. If we want peace, it must be a lasting peace."

Jon stared at her, as if he were seeing her anew. This was a Targaryen? For that matter, how was he to believe that he was one himself? But beyond that, it was sensible. Why not stop the fighting? The true enemy was finally truly dead. The living should not fight amongst themselves.

"You're right," he decided. Sensing her expectation, he took her hand in his own. "To be a real king, I must protect my people as well as retain my honor. If I can do both at once, there is no question about it."

"Then, you accept this condition, to formally end this war?"

"I do."

Daenerys nodded, but did not take her hand away. She suddenly changed, very subtly. He thought he saw the barest hint of . . . shyness?

"You understand what we must do, then."

"Make an announcement?"

"Yes, of course, but I mean later. After the wedding."

Jon looked at her blankly. Then he realized. "We do not need to- to . . ."

Daenerys was looking at him with surprise. No doubt most men she met desired her.

"You do not want to?" she asked curiously.

"I . . . have only ever loved one woman," Jon muttered, looking away from her. "She was a wildling. She died. Killed in a battle between wildlings and the Night's Watch. I do not know if I can love again."

"I thought the same thing, when Khal Drogo died," Daenerys replied. "And I was wrong. But I do not need you to love me, Jon. I need an heir."

Jon looked at her sharply, suddenly remembering something, and pulled his hand from hers. "If what you said is true, we are of the same blood! You're my . . . my aunt!"

Daenerys lifted a hand coaxingly. "You agreed to marriage."

Jon felt repulsed. He did not speak.

"I had one child, aside from my dragons." Daenerys replied quietly. "He was stillborn, and monstrous. I will never forget. Yet you were born perfectly fine. I now think I know why. A dragon can mount any beast, but no other beast can mount a dragon."

It was a crude kind of logic. Jon wasn't sure why that couldn't simply be proof that he was not a Targaryen. But if that were the case, there was no reason to be averse to siring her child.

"That is my second condition," Daenerys told him, now stern. "You give me your word, and hold to it, that you will give me a son. Hopefully more, but I will not argue that now. No one but our children shall inherit this land."

Jon swallowed his distaste. He could not throw away the prospect of peace. Even if she was his aunt, she was beautiful and young. Many men would do anything for this chance, he knew.

"Bran did not tell anyone else about this, did he?" Jon asked, his throat dry.

"No one else, though he knew I would tell you."

Jon nodded. "Very well then. I will agree to your second condition . . . if we keep it that way. A secret, as my father intended."

Daenerys smiled again, and she held out her hand, which he took. "Then it is agreed."

And now the young queen breathed heavily, as if in relief, and Jon understood the feeling wholeheartedly. She moved back, out of his grasp, and turned to the door.

"Now, let's go!" Daenerys exclaimed, suddenly as young as she should be. "I want to meet all the lords and ladies. I have heard Ser Jorah's house is ruled by a little girl, who makes me seem full grown by comparison. Is this true?"

She rounded on him, and Jon was taken aback. "Yes," he managed. "Lady Lyanna Mormont is only eleven years of age, I believe."

"Eleven!" she repeated, wondrously. "And Mormont is only one of a dozen houses you lead. I shall have to burn them all."

Jon's smile froze on his face. "What did you say?"

Daenerys gave him a quizzical look. "I said I shall have to learn them all."

"Ah, of course," Jon said, rubbing his head. He beckoned to Ghost, and they followed the queen out to see the people.


End file.
